Prose of the Noh
by Asuka Langley
Summary: A vignette baring Keiki's true feelings toward his revered empress.


Prose of the Noh

Disclaimer: I do not own Juuni Kokki or any of its characters. Any such character references in the story below are for creative purposes only.

No one ever knew the face behind a Noh mask – no one ever bothered to. Humans it seemed, were skin-deep by nature, merely concerned with outward appearances and external facades. In their eyes, the Noh mask simply represented an inanimate role, a player in the stage-set reproduction of life. And in the midst of such a fixation, the people simply chose to forget that behind the mask stood a real man – a being made of flesh and blood.

Keiki had long since reconciled himself to this fact, for it served his purposes with flawless alacrity. His existence was merely a role to be played, a part of a performance in which Tentei was the sole omniscient creator. From that perspective, it then became easy to don the facade and play that role – to bury the man underneath the mask. Behind it he was unreachable, unable to be harmed – or more importantly, unable to harm others. He had learned the hard way that to reveal the man for even an instant would be to invite disaster.

Fortunately, he now knew how to play his part with faultless perfection. True, there were certain sacrifices that were made in the process, but they became of little consequence in lieu of Tentei's ultimate plot. And in truth, was it not easier to enshroud oneself within cool pristine porcelain and feel nothing, than to expose oneself to the thorns of senseless emotion? It was a comfortable arrangement in which he had never even hoped to bargain for.

Yet it also appeared that Tentei held an obvious penchant for perverse humor. It was his tendency, now and then, to rewrite the script in an attempt to keep things at an interesting angle. This time around, He had certainly outdone himself. In a twist of ironic inspiration, He had once again chosen Keiki as the sole object of His divine amusement. As if sensing the kirin's blessed comfort within his porcelain shell, He had decided it was high time to test His subject's limits once more. And test it He did.

Each day that passed, His _test_ tried Keiki'ssanity time and again, daring to challenge the defenses he had built to protect himself. With her courage and stubbornness, she dared to reach out, to breach the mask and uncover the man that lay underneath. With her kindness and compassion, she strived to heal, to recover the identity that had long since been forgotten. It was utterly and completely unacceptable.

From the moment he had realized what she was trying to do, he had vowed to himself that she would never succeed. And thus, they were forced into a dance of wills, one seeking to pursue and the other seeking to evade. It was a tiresome ritual, yet it was the only one capable of preserving his tattered defenses…or so he thought. Because the deeper they progressed into the dance, the more he began to realize with alarm that she was in fact the one who was in control. Unbeknownst to him, she had long since molded his steps with the fluid sways of her body, enshrouding him within her unique charm. With every movement, she gradually began to transform in front of his eyes, divesting the layers of her maidenly veil to reveal the true woman that lay beneath.

She was Nakajima Youko, taika empress of Kei, _his_ empress to be certain. With uncharacteristic scarlet hair and jade-tinged eyes, her every action was just as equally unconventional as her outer appearance. Never one to bother with social propriety, she fervently refused any man's attempt to bow in her presence. Scoffing fashion, her wardrobe mainly consisted of robes befitting a male official rather than a young empress. Even more unusual, the company she kept spanned the entire spectrum of social classes, from peasant farmers to the emperors and empresses of surrounding countries.

Keiki still could not decide if he was appalled or fascinated by her utter disregard for standard tradition. He sensed that underneath her solemn and responsible nature lay a subtle tinge of rebellion, a depth she usually kept well hidden. Yet in certain circumstances, he as well as the rest of her courtly subjects found themselves being caught off guard by the force of her fixed convictions. It was baffling, a bit disturbing, and utterly captivating.

The more he observed her, learned about her, the deeper his mask began to crack. Without intending to, he had memorized her eating pattern, her sleeping pattern, her thinking pattern. She preferred to eat her least favorite dish first, but almost always became too full before she could finish her favorite dish. She never slept with an uncovered mirror in the room, due to a certain Hourai superstition her mother had once told her about. While attempting to solve a problem dealing with the state, she always rationalized from three standpoints: the ruler, the subject, and Tentei, respectively. Indeed, he had become so familiar with her daily habits that at times he began to confuse them for his own.

Yet despite all this, she continued to elude his comprehension. Each time he believed he had her deciphered, she would throw him a new twist, tilt his already fragile logic into renewed disarray. He would attempt to give her a short impromptu lesson on the history of Kei, only to end up with her giving _him_ a lesson on the history of Hourai.

In those instances, he would grudgingly admit to himself that she was still as unpredictable as ever.

And therein, lay the danger. Moments like those were instances when she would gain one step closer to him in the dance, one step nearer to tearing off his mask. But how was he expected to repel her advances when he could not even second-guess her next step? Little by little, he felt his defenses crumbling, unable to escape what he had always wanted to avoid. In the past, it had been easy to hide behind a cool exterior, to play a perfunctory role and be done with it. There were no risks, no gambles. No anguish. When he had sworn his life and loyalty to her, it had been the role of the Noh mask. Back then, it had been easy to assure himself that the same mistake would not be repeated. That was then…

But this time, although he refused to admit it to himself, the roles had been reversed. It was not Kei-ou's sanity that was at stake anymore – it was his own. Every glance, every gesture, every utterance of his name…they all served to crack the white porcelain a bit further. The dance was coming to a swift conclusion, and it was clear who the victor was going to be. If he were truly honest with himself, he would admit that he had always known who the victor would be.

There was precious little time left before his true form would be bared before her eyes. Precious little time before he broke down and offered her anything she wanted. He felt an intense fear…and simultaneously, an intense exhilaration. But he would not cave in to these emotions, at least not yet. If she was to deal with the man underneath sooner or later, then she may as well begin to cultivate patience. As for him, he would bide his time a little longer, revel within the crumbling walls a bit further. And when the time came for the mask to shatter, he only prayed that his sanity would stay intact. Funny, how he had once heard the same words uttered by another set of lips. Such was the irony of Tentei's play.

Author's Note: The above vignette was just a little insight on Keiki's feelings toward his revered Empress. Putting his overall personality into perspective, I figured this was as romantic as he'll ever get. You can always count on Keiki to insult Youko while in the midst of complimenting her. As usual, constructive criticisms are always welcome.


End file.
